


The Saint Nikolaus Raid

by Murasaki99



Category: The Rat Patrol
Genre: Arabian Horses, Christmas, Gen, Knecht Ruprecht - Freeform, Krampus - Freeform, Saint Nikolaus, julfest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28214475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murasaki99/pseuds/Murasaki99
Summary: No Christmas because Nazis.  Some of the German officers in town forbid Captain Dietrich to celebrateWeihnachten(traditional Christmas eve) with his men.  “We can’t spare the supplies, plus we don’t approve of Christian nonsense.”The Captain is not one to take "No" for an answer.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 16





	The Saint Nikolaus Raid

The truck with faded Allied markings sat abandoned 100 feet from the road. Its hood was raised and the left front and rear tires were completely flat, causing it to list to port like a ship foundering in sandy surf. 

The nearly full moon rode the evening sky above the Captain’s head while he eyed the vehicle. Even though the lunar disc was not quite at the midnight apex, it cast enough light to see the machine hulking off the road. The truck had not been there on his trip in to town today. 

_Hauptmann_ Dietrich sat down in the saddle and his mare Sekhmet halted at once, giving him time to make the best inspection he could, given the distance. Satisfied that no one was obviously near, he turned Sekhmet’s head and rode a slow spiral inward, alert for any sign the Allies were lurking in wait. 

His journey to the occupied town near his command’s camp had been less than fruitful. The military staff officers there had all been Nazi party enthusiasts preparing for “Julfest”, the secular and approved replacement for the Christian Christmas observances. _Weihnachten_ and _Christkind_[1] had been banished by them and Nazi faithful were only supposed to follow party-approved “pagan” celebrations. His request to them for supplies to celebrate _Weihnachten_ had been rebuffed by the party purists and he had left town in a very uncharitable state of mind. It did not help that the officers there were setting up their own celebration this evening with supplies flown in from Italy, even as they sent him away with nothing except admonishments for allowing his men to follow an, “unpatriotic faith founded by Jews”. 

Without thinking, he patted the two burlap bags of ashes fastened behind the saddle and smiled wryly. Their own campfires were efficient and small enough they did not yield enough ashes to make a bagful. 

_Here I was hoping to have Sergeant Gunther play Saint Nikolaus, but it looks as if the only one to have a proper part is myself as Nikolaus’s servant, Knecht Ruprecht, with his bag of ashes and handful of switches for naughty children. Ashes were the only things I could find in town that I could take with me. While Sekhmet got some exercise, my trip was otherwise a waste of time._ Thinking on the unfairness did nothing to lift his mood. 

_A pity I cannot send the saint’s other, more dangerous servitor, Krampus, to give those people a lesson in humility_.

Far in the distance, a bell tolled, its sweet sound softened by distance, but still clear. 

Banishing the depressing thoughts with a shake of his head, Dietrich inspected the abandoned truck. He was close enough now to see boxes and crates piled inside through holes in the worn canvas cover. Nudging Sekhmet into a position parallel to the back of the truck, he stepped into the cargo area from the saddle. While the mare stood watch, he went through the interior as quickly as possible. 

_Six crates of truck springs? I suppose we aren’t the only army who suffers from inferior vehicles that cannot stand up to the harsh environment._

While useful in the long term, the heavy steel springs would have to wait until he could send a proper salvage party with a truck and detachment to guard them. A smaller crate marked with the universal red cross of the medical services looked more promising. Upon investigation, the box yielded sulfa and morphine. These smaller items he packed into two of the strong cargo bags he had brought with him on the erroneous assumption he could acquire supplies in town. The drugs were light, and Sekhmet could carry them easily. 

_As a Christmas present, this may be the best_ , he thought. _Too many of my men die from pain-driven shock before we have a chance to save them._ Working quickly, he fastened the vital packs firmly to his horse’s saddle. The last crate yielded dried coffee and a ten-pound box of chocolate bars. A smile came to his face as he packed those up as well. Soon enough the haul was attached to Sekhmet’s saddle, giving her the look of a merchant’s draft animal. She did not seem to mind at all. 

_Now I can return to my camp and report that Saint Nikolaus has not forgotten us. I will send a group in the morning to this truck and salvage whatever is left_. 

Sekhmet’s warning whinny made him jump from the truck into the saddle, and not a moment too soon.

“Give it up, Captain!” The distinctive voice of Sergeant Troy sounded from close range, causing Dietrich to grimace in annoyance.

 _They must bury themselves in the sand, like Arab assassins_ , he thought with a mix of resignation and embarrassment.

“Come on now!” Troy called, leaping forward in an attempt to grab the Captain from the saddle as Sekhmet uttered a steely snort and sank down a little, coiling her muscles.

“Sarge! Don’t—!” Tully’s shout came a second too late as Dietrich’s mare spun in place and kicked out sharply, sending Troy flying and giving Dietrich enough time to pull free a bag of ashes. As Sekhmet reared, snapping with her teeth and striking with her forelegs, he closed his eyes and swung the bag hard, hitting Moffitt and Hitch in their faces. The worn burlap emitted choking clouds of fine gray ash with each strike, obscuring vision as well as a smoke grenade. Taking advantage of the momentary concealment, Dietrich sent Sekhmet forward through the gap she had created. The two of them charged away at top speed, leaving the members of the Rat Patrol to wipe their eyes, collect themselves, and run to their hidden jeeps to make chase.

“Didn’t I tell ya not to get too close, Sarge? You’re lucky that mare didn’t kick your head off!” The rest of Tully’s lecture on equine safety was lost in the roar of their engines. 

It wasn’t that Troy knew nothing about horses. He could ride quite well, but dealing with an animal trained for warfare rather than herding cattle was outside his experience. It had not occurred to him that the horse, so docile when standing by the Captain, could suddenly turn into a snapping, striking fiend. 

As they galloped, Dietrich turned his head briefly to track their pursuit. The jeeps of the Rat Patrol were still at a good distance, but that didn’t mean he was going to have an easy time of escaping with his _Weihnachten_ treasures. He smiled as he turned Sekhmet toward the town. 

_Of course, along with Saint Nikolaus comes his servants to annoy and terrorize everyone_. His smile widened as antic humor lit a fire in his eyes. _Let me see if I can’t find my private Patrol of Krampuses some people worthy of their attentions_.

Galloping onward, he steered a beeline over the rough terrain rather than taking the road. As he had calculated, the broken landscape served to keep the Rat Patrol at a safe-enough distance. By the time the Allies had closed the gap, Dietrich and Sekhmet had reached the outskirts of the town, completing their sprint ahead of the jeeps. Once they made their destination, there was no time to stop. With the Rat Patrol on his heels, he turned toward the market square the Nazi officers had commandeered for their party. 

Cutting along the side of the wide street to evade a truck, the Captain hit a clothesline and found himself draped in someone’s clean sheet. Flailing around, he managed to pull it open enough to see. The horse jumped something, and a moment later a herd of goats began bounding along with them.

 _We must have broken their pen?_ Dietrich thought as Sekhmet charged to the middle of the street without slowing a bit, nimbly threading her way around the parked staff cars and hurtling through the intersection at high speed, leaving clouds of ashes in her wake like an earthbound comet. The goats gamboled and leaped around them. They were not typical slender milk goats common to the desert nomads, but large, robust animals with heavy curving horns, the sort favored for family gifts before the feasts of Ramadan or a wedding. 

The banquet tables loomed ahead, the party-goers at the edges of the banquet staring at the oncoming hurricane with wide eyes. Disbelief froze them in place for several long seconds. Sekhmet leaped over the first table, landing square on a second, sending food and drink fountaining skyward. The ladies started screaming. Goats were everywhere, plowing into the officers, overturning the rest of the tables, and nibbling at the spilled food. Grabbing the remaining bag of ashes, Dietrich opened it, launching the contents into the air as the mare sprang over a last table, kicking the chairs out of her way. The ash dispersed into a satisfyingly thick cloud that instantly filled the area.

Behind them, the Rat Patrol began to careen into the tables and the cough of the .50 caliber machine guns added sharp counterpoint to shouts and curses from the partiers. 

A quick glance confirmed Troy and company were firing over the heads of the crowd more for the panicking effect than to cause mass casualties. Their attack had the desired result in that the celebrants ran in all directions, diving for cover, foolishly trying to return fire, or simply fleeing into the relative safety of nearby buildings. 

Under the cloud of obscuring ashes, Dietrich turned Sekhmet down first one side street and then another. Along the way he managed to work the sheet free and left it draped over a wall. At last they exited the town by a road some distance away from the one by which they had entered. The return trip to his camp was entirely uneventful, with only the moon to witness the smile on his face.

\---

“Knecht Ruprecht and Krampus led the forces of the Devil through our _Julfest_ party! I’ve never seen the like!” Major Traub sounded as if he were in shock. “Everything was ruined! What they didn’t kick over they spoiled by covering it in ashes.”

“How terrible,” said Gunther calmly into the radio receiver. Some distance away, his Captain was carefully brushing ashy remnants off the coat of his horse. “I’ll inform _Herr Hauptmann_ at once. Do you need support?”

“No, they are long gone now. Tell _Hauptmann_ Dietrich to perform a perimeter check in the morning before he moves his command out.”

“Of course sir,” said Gunther. Signing off, he shut down the radio. _Leutnant_ Erhardt stood beside him, shoulders shaking with mirth, both hands over his mouth to contain the laughter.

His horse attended to, Dietrich joined them. 

“Well, Sergeant, willing to play Saint Nikolaus for us this _Weihnachten_?”

“Let me find my false beard and robes and I will be ready to hand out presents,” Gunther grinned at his captain.

oO--O-o

“Why is it the person we’d most like to get our hands on has nine lives **_and_** is slippery as an eel?” Troy rubbed his bruised shoulder where he had been kicked. “Not to mention owns a mean rodeo trick pony.”

“It must be a law of nature,” Moffitt replied with a sigh, trying to brush the layer of ash from his sleeves. The entire Rat Patrol looked as if they had lost a fight with a gang of angry chimney sweeps.

“If we at least got hold of Dietrich, we’d have a better chance to wrangle in the rest of his group without causing too much damage, if we set up something sneaky. I’d rather have the Captain and his men alive and cooling their heels in a POW camp than ending up dead in combat sometime soon,” said Troy. 

He understood the Captain almost too well and respected the sense of duty that drove the man. In addition, after their adventure quarantining with Dietrich’s command for over ten days, Troy knew his junior officer, sergeant, and even many of the medics far too well to be comfortable about shooting any of them[2].

“Quite. Our air forces have been causing a lot of ground casualties now that they nearly have command of the skies. It would ease my mind a bit to have Dietrich and his people well away from all that.” Moffitt looked toward the town behind them, a simmering cauldron of random fires, smoke, and noise. 

“On the plus side, I do believe we left a good impression tonight.”

Troy grinned broadly. 

“Yeah, I suppose we made it a Christmas party to remember. Let’s shake it.”

oO--O-o

Christmas morning found the men in Dietrich’s camp celebrating their shares of coffee and chocolate. Their usually-dour medic, Corporal Krauzer, and his staff were even happier over the fresh supply of morphine and sulfa added to their stockpile. 

The cooks had turned out a very credible desert-style Christmas stollen, a sweet bread with bits of dried dates, ground almonds, and pistachios inside, glazed with some carefully-hoarded sugar. Dietrich munched his share with a cup of fresh coffee on the table beside him and felt the world turn a bit brighter. 

Later, as they prepared to perform their check of the town’s perimeter as requested, and hopefully acquire the abandoned truck springs, Erhardt approached and saluted his commanding officer.

“Sergeant Gunther made a wonderful Saint Nikolaus last night, but we missed Knecht Ruprecht and Krampus.”

Dietrich took a sip of his coffee before replying.

“I am afraid the saint’s servants were busy elsewhere dealing with some very naughty children.”

“My contacts told me there was quite a _Störung_ in town,” said Erhardt. “Everyone at the party was pretty drunk when it happened, but I hear they were convinced somehow they had gotten their _Julfest_ rites wrong and accidentally summoned Knecht Ruprecht, Krampus, and their minions.”

“Less luck had they managed to summon Wotan himself,” said Dietrich. The corners of his mouth turned up and his eyes held happy light in their depths.

“ _Frohe Weihnachten_ , _Mein Herr_ ,” said Erhardt.

“ _Frohe Weihnachten_ , Max.” Finishing the last bit of food and coffee, he stood. 

“Now, let us see if we can add to our collection of truck springs.”

###

[1] Traditional Christmas Eve celebration in Germany and other parts of Europe.

[2] See _The Entire Barking Mob Raid_.

**Author's Note:**

> "Nazi ideologues initially sought to reject Germany's long-held Christmas traditions - renaming the festival Julfest, and propagating its Germanic origins as the celebration of the winter solstice. But for the majority of Germans, the Christian traditions remained the basis of the holiday, and the churches were outraged by the removal of Christ from Christmas and maintained the Christian traditions among themselves." See the following Wikipedia link for the full article on the rejection of Christianity by the Nazi Party and their effort to put in place a new paganism: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_in_Nazi_Germany.


End file.
